


To Drown In Her Eyes

by Lazy_Martian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cheating, Dildos, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interracial Relationship, Mermaids, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Suicidal Thoughts, True Love, Victorian, incomplete/more to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:32:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazy_Martian/pseuds/Lazy_Martian
Summary: A woman finds the love of her life in a mysterious stranger, and has an illicit secret affair. But this strange, exotic woman is hiding more than just their relationship...





	1. Elizabeth's Diary

October 17, 1896  
Dear Diary,  
The other day, while attending another horrid soiree with William, I met the most gorgeous woman. Sitting on the arm of William’s business cohort Bradley was the exotic beauty Cassandra; her thick, dark hair was styled into an exquisite bun, starting to slip undone from the stressors of the evening into a perfect mess. Her skin shone like finely polished oak, rich and creamy as Swiss chocolate. Her lips were so full and captivating, they needed no color at all to entrance whomever watched. Her eyes even caught me off-guard: they were a striking amber color. I have never seen any other pair like them; they reminded me of a tigress on the hunt. Her dress was outstanding, tailored perfectly to her hourglass figure. It was the color of fresh mulberry wine, with lace detailing so intricate even I could not make out the smallest patterns. She seemed to tower above every guest attending, though I believe she could have been no taller than one hundred seventy-eight centimeters. Truthfully, it was her regal and confident air that did it. She walked like the queen of some far-off land…and yet, never strayed too far from Bradley’s side. I cannot imagine how he seduced a beauty worth twice his weight in gold—he is not the handsomest of gentlemen—but I recall hearing something about them meeting during a business deal in Sri Lanka. My mind set adrift from the tedium of it all, I gazed around the room until, suddenly, Cassandra and I locked eyes. For a moment, she only stared, looking over my figure until my cheeks reddened. Then, she beckoned to a waiter, said something to him in passing, and pointed directly at me! I almost felt like fainting. The waiter walked to where I stood and offered me a glass of champagne “from the lady in red.” But, just as I thought he was to leave and attend to another guest, he leaned towards me subtly and whispered in my ear, “She says that when the clock strikes nine, you should make your way upstairs and to the third bedroom on the left.” I did not know what to make of my luck, but I knew one thing: I would not miss this chance for the world! And so I waited, focusing on the light classical music being played instead of my husband’s dull blathering. Time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace. I smiled and nodded at the many men who complemented William on my looks, but never said a word of my own. Only five minutes until nine pm; I swept the room and Cassandra was nowhere to be found. Turning to William, I said, “Please excuse me dear, I must visit the powder room and…freshen up.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand—typical—and I began to walk in the direction of the lower guest bathroom. However, once free from William’s prying gaze, I changed my course and headed instead for the grand staircase. Carefully, I walked up to the second floor, being as quiet as possible to avoid detection. I rounded the corner to the left and sighed in relief; I was almost there, with none the wiser! The hall was dimly lit, and my footsteps sounded like echoes. I passed the first door, a second, and, facing the third, I stopped. I lifted my knuckles to rap on the door, but hesitated; did I really want to bring myself into this? I had no idea why I was here, or what Cassandra even wanted. For all I knew, it could be some kind of trap! But I thought back to those full lips and striking eyes and I couldn’t hold myself back. I knocked once, twice, and then: “Please, come in.” My hand was shaking as it turned the brass knob. The door swung open to reveal, thank heavens, Cassandra sitting on the bed, smoking a tobacco pipe. “Ah, there you are. I was afraid you would never show up,” Cassandra said. “But…the clock only just struck nine! I’m exactly on time,” I stammered in reply. Effortlessly, she blew several smoke rings, then turned to me and said, “Early is on time, and on time is late.” I felt myself blushing; of course, she was right. “Come, sit,” Cassandra said, beckoning me to rest beside her. Anxiously, I did so. “What do you—” I was going to say ‘want,’ but Cassandra cut me off as if having read my mind: “I saw the way you looked at me downstairs; it was the same open-mouthed look of hunger I receive from many men,” she said. I turned away, trying to hide my furious blushing. How forward she was! “But those men who lust for me cannot partake; I am married to Bradley,” she continued. My spirits fell; so that’s all this was, a mocking rejection. I should have known better. But then, I felt her slender fingers gently lift my chin so that I met her gaze, and she said, “And, of course, I do not desire men at all.” My jaw practically dropped in shock; how was this possible? Was I dreaming? Cassandra, seeing me frozen in surprise, took the opportunity she had and leaned in, kissing me squarely on the lips. I closed my eyes and accepted her gift. She tasted of honey and incense, so foreign to my tongue. It was passionate, but brief; obviously, we had been gone too long, and must return to the party. “Tonight is but one night, short and worthless,” Cassandra said, standing and putting out the embers in her pipe with a thumb. “I will get your address from Bradley, and within a week you will receive a telegram. In the guise of a doctor’s notice, it will have a date, a time, and an address—be there, and do not be late. I will be waiting,” she said, before slipping out the door and out of sight. I was so overwhelmed, I sighed and lay down on the bed, enveloped in bliss. What a mysterious and magical woman she is! Before I knew it, I was fast asleep. I awoke to William gently shaking my arm, asking, “Elizabeth? Are you alright? What happened?” I put a hand to my head and thought for a brief moment before saying, “In the powder room, I began…to feel ill, and—lightheaded. So I came upstairs to rest in case I fainted…it must have been more serious than I thought.” He helped me sit up before I thought to ask, “…Where are Bradley and his wife? Have you seen them?” “Oh, darling, I believe they left some time ago…business to attend to and whatnot,” he replied, wiping my forehead with a handkerchief. He helped me to my feet, steadying me on his arm; “Do not overexert yourself, dear, especially if you are ill…lean on me for support,” said William. Despite my lack of attraction to William, he is quite a kind man; I would likely enjoy a husband such as him, if I wanted a husband in the first place. Gingerly, he assisted me to the carriage, and we began our ride home; William held me while he recounted the numerous connections and possible business ventures he had made that evening. I did not listen to a word. Upon arriving home, I undressed and prepared for bed while William read by the fire with a cigar. Laying down without him, I quickly fell into a deep slumber, filled with dreams of gold, frankincense and luxurious kisses in the Far East.   
Faithfully yours,  
Elizabeth

 

October 27, 1896  
Dear Diary,  
Cassandra was not lying; a telegraph indeed came in the mail, addressed to me. It had been sent from the telegraph office so that there was no identifiable information about the sender—how clever she was! It requested that I meet my new psychoanalyst, on behalf of physician’s orders, at an address in the market quarter two days from the telegraph’s arrival promptly at two thirty-five in the afternoon. William was a bit concerned at first, saying that he didn’t recall my physician ordering me to visit a psychoanalyst on his previous visit, but I managed to convince him that he had written a doctor’s note, and it had simply been misplaced in the weeks since my physical. He consented to me going as long as I took a carriage and brought the butler along with me for supervision, which I dutifully agreed to; I was lying. I was so excited I could barely contain myself—in two days, I’d have my first encounter with the beautiful, exotic, and mysterious Cassandra! I couldn’t even fathom how to pass the time; my needlepoint, light reading, and walks in the garden were not nearly entertaining enough to satiate me. Finally, the morning of our illicit meeting came. William had gone out to meet with a trading partner, and was expected to be gone the whole day. Dressed in street clothing to disguise my social standing, I came downstairs practically waltzing in contentment. I found the butler folding towels; I pulled out my purse, retrieved a twenty pound note and handed it to him, saying, “I am going out. Tell William that you accompanied me to my psychoanalyst’s appointment and all went as planned.” He took the note, tucked it in his pocket, and nodded, replying, “Of course, madam. Enjoy your outing.” Ecstatic, I walked outside and made my way in the direction of the market quarter.

The walk was longer than I expected, but it was so wonderfully liberating to be out without a man watching my every move. Finally, I found myself outside of our borough, past the opulent offices of the business district, and into the coal-stained streets of lower London. All around me were vendors, selling anything you could imagine off of quickly hobbled-together stalls—fish, beaded jewelry, bread, fabric, vegetables. Normally it would be the maid walking these alleyways, picking out the goods for the weekly meals and housekeeping. It was all fairly new to me, strange and frightening and captivating all at the same time. I stopped by one small girl selling fresh-cut flowers wrapped in newspaper, and bought a rose to bring to Cassandra. I passed a rowdy pub, full and noisy even this early in the day. Later on, I was stopped by a dusty urchin boy, who asked, “Penny for a paper, ma’am?” I bent down to be more even with his height and pulled a sixpence piece out of my purse. William ordered the newspaper to our home, so I’d already read one this morning; “I don’t need a paper, thank you, but use this to buy some hot buns for you and your friends,” I said, pressing the coin into his palm. The light in his eyes was magical to say the least, and he wore the biggest smile as he trotted over to several other urchins tucked behind an alley wall; it brought joy to my heart. I pulled the folded telegraph, which I had swiped from William’s office desk earlier that day, from my purse to remind myself of the address. “82 Colburn Street, south-side London, Market Quarter,” I read aloud. Watching the street signs as I passed, I finally spotted one directing me to Colburn Street and turned to follow it. While a bit dingy, the area was still quaint; one could see that the flats lining the cobblestone road were once painted in brighter colors, such as yellow, white, or blue before the factory smoke turned them all a dull shade of grey. Some windows even sported flower pots, attempting to foster even the smallest sign of beauty in the shadows of poverty. I stopped in front of a door marked with a tarnished brass 82; it was attached to a tall, narrow building trimmed in a classic Tudor style. I knocked on the door several times before a large, wizened woman answered. “What da ya want, lass?” she asked in a rough Irish brogue. “Ehm, I am here to see my psychoanalyst…uh, I have an appointment,” I replied timidly. As soon as she heard the word “psycho,” the matron’s demeanor changed. She smiled and said, “Oh, so tha’s who yer here for…Don’t worry, I won’t tell nobody,” with a playful wink. I stood still for another moment before she waved at me to enter, asking, “What’re ya waitin’ fer lass? Come on in!” I stepped inside and was pleasantly surprised by the condition of the interior: the floors were scratched but swept clean, and there were a few places where the paint had begun to chip, but nothing struck me as dangerous or dilapidated. The pocket watch of William’s I had borrowed—one of many—said the time was two thirty exactly, so I wasn’t late yet. I turned to the matron to ask what room to go to, but before I opened my mouth she said, “No need ta be shy, lass—she’s ready for ya. Up the stairs, first room on the right. Go on now—ya got that rose fer a reason!” I smiled at her kind-hearted approval, thanked her politely and hurried up the narrow staircase.

Just as before our first meeting at the party, I nervously stood outside the door to Cassandra’s room, hesitating to enter. My stomach tossed with a mixture of anxiety and excitement, and I felt as though an electric current were running through my body, causing me to buzz all over. But this was what I had waited for; standing here quietly was only holding me back from meeting the woman of my dreams. So I turned the handle of the door and walked inside with confidence. The room was bright and airy on account of the large window on the opposite wall; its curtains had been pulled back to let in the light. At its sill was an upright desk and chair, decorated with a vase of lilies. To the right, there was a double bed, dressed in home-stitched quilts and cotton sheets. Cassandra sat at a small table, stirring a cup of tea with a silver spoon. “Ah-ha, now the lady arrives on time,” she said with a small smirk. “Ha, very funny,” I replied before sitting at the table myself. “I made us some tea. Would you like some?” Cassandra offered politely. I accepted, and she poured me a cup, adding two sugars—just the way I like it. “…How did you know the way I take my tea?” I asked, inquisitive. “Oh, I just guessed,” she answered, but the twinkle in her eye told a different story. “The mysterious Lady Cassandra,” I said, taking a sip of my tea, “Alluring, intelligent, and full of secrets.” She let out a deep, hearty laugh and said, “Oh, you do flatter me so.” For a moment, I only watched her. She was dressed in a simple pair of riding pants and a light blouse. Even lacking her splendid evening gown, she was as beautiful as I remembered: her hair down revealed its true length, flowing in curled locks to her lower back. Her skin was like copper in the sun, bright and free of blemishes. And her eyes were as intense as ever; the only time she broke my gaze was when she blinked, which was slow and graceful. But soon the tea, and a few biscuits, were gone, and the silence of expectation hung in the air. 

“Cassandra, you are so beautiful, any woman would be honored to be called yours. Why, then, of all people, did you choose me?” I asked, looking at the floor. “You say that as if you are somehow the least worthy of my affection,” she said, her voice carrying a new note of kindness, “Yet I think you are a marvelous specimen of Western beauty. Being raised in Sri Lanka, we were taught to idolize the small waists, ivory-white skin, and light hair of English women. Do you not feel that you possess such attributes?” I looked back at her and found a genuine smile on her face instead of a sarcastic smirk. Her words shocked me; I could hardly believe she actually found me beautiful. “Besides, you were the first woman I saw look at me with something besides envy. I did not have to know you to tell you were special,” she continued. Cassandra set down her teacup and stood, walking to my side of the table. She bent down so that her face was next to mine, then said in a sultry whisper, “Now, I did not invite you here only to chat over tea. How about I show you just how beautiful I think you are with my hands?” Her words alone sent shivers down my spine. I looked up at her and nodded. She helped me stand and then pulled me into a passionate kiss. I only wanted her to hold me, but her fingers were already working on unfastening the buttons that ran down the back of my dress. I wrapped my arms around her neck and let her disrobe me, only breaking our kiss to allow the dress to slide off my shoulders. Cassandra’s gaze swept over my body, now clad only in my corset and petticoat, like a huntress eyeing her prey. I sat on the bed, far softer than I expected, and let her unlace my boots. She untied each knot slowly, torturing me with expectations of what awaits, and slid the boots off my delicate feet. She pulled my stockings off in a similar manner so that I would deliberately relish the sensation of silk sliding across my skin. Once they were off, she lightly kissed each of my ten toes, which made me giggle. She moved to my waist, unbuttoning my petticoat and removing it to reveal my bloomers; the loose cotton pants ended just above my knee, and were trimmed with lace and satin ribbon. I blushed, having never exposed myself to this degree for anyone except my husband. 

She sat down beside me and kissed me again, but this time requested to enter my mouth by tapping my lips gently with her tongue. I consented, opening the doors to a new experience. William had never kissed me before in such a way; this was far more romantic and intimate. I ran my fingers through her hair, savoring its weight and feathery texture. While one of Cassandra’s hands rested on my cheek, the other pulled at the pins holding my hair in place; before I even knew what she was doing, I felt my blonde waves tumble loosely over my bare shoulders. Cassandra pulled out of our embrace, and then placed her hands on the hem of my corset before asking, “May I?” Without further explanation, I knew of what she wanted; “Please,” I answered, awaiting her touch. One by one, she snapped the clasps that held my corset shut, until it fell away, revealing my bare torso. My chest was heaving in desire; all my secret Sapphic dreams were being given life by this goddess of beauty! Cassandra cupped my breasts gingerly, one in each hand, while circling the nipples with her thumb. She placed one last kiss on my lips before moving down my neck and kissing across my collarbones. She brushed her hands over my shoulders, caressed my face, and ran her fingers down my ribcage. She lightly scratched her nails down my arms, leaving faint pink trails, and then followed them back up with kisses from my hands to my shoulders. These touches were so delicate and stimulating; I wanted her more each minute that passed. Finally, she said quietly, “Elizabeth, lay down and I will have you, if you’d let me.” I thought she would never ask! Grinning like a fool, I positioned myself with my head on one of the pillows and my body at her command. She lay on her side beside me and slid a hand under my lower back to support me while I arched my hips upward, giving her room to remove my bloomers and discard them. Now I was completely naked, every inch of my ivory skin exposed to the cool air. I let Cassandra do as she pleased.

And, oh, how she touched me! It felt as if her hands were everywhere on my body at once while not touching me at all. She kissed me in places I had never been kissed before, unafraid to sample every taste my body had to offer. It was as if her tongue had a mind of its own, wandering in and out of places tongues were never meant to be. I craved her every movement. Together, the combined sensations of her ministrations brought me such pleasure, concentrated to a point I have never experienced! And when it built up so much that I could no longer contain myself, I cried out loudly enough that the entire street must have heard. It was incredible; Cassandra worshipped my body as if it were a temple for some long-forgotten faith, each kiss and touch a gift in tribute to her goddess. When she finished, I could hardly breathe and was near the point of tears. She cradled me in her arms, humming some exotic hymn until I was calm. She helped me dress myself, fastening all the buttons I could not reach. She brushed my hair and returned it to a near-perfect replica of its previous style. And again, she kissed me, except now it was not as passionate as it was soothing and full of love. Before I left, I remembered the rose I had bought her, which she accepted graciously and placed in the vase on the desk. “So will I see you here again, same time next week?” She asked when I reached the door. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I replied, feeling as if my every prayer had been answered. I closed the door on my way out and wound my way down the creaky wooden stairs, blushing when I caught the knowing gaze of the landlady. After walking back to a main road, I ended up calling for a public taxi carriage as my legs were almost too weak to carry me home. The whole ride back I could only picture her face in my mind’s eye, and felt blissfully at peace with myself. Thankfully, William had not yet returned home when I arrived, saving me the horror of having to admit my dishonesty. I asked for the maid to brew a hot cup of tea, which I drank while reading by the fire in an attempt to calm my nerves. I was giddy in a fashion similar to a child on its birthday; my smile never once left my face!  
After what I have written here, diary, I am thankful I keep you in a locked chest so that William cannot see.  
Faithfully yours,  
Elizabeth

 

December 12, 1896  
Dear Diary,  
For almost two months now Cassandra and I have being seeing each other in secret, meeting in her flat nearly once a week! I cannot help but think that my affair is far more exhilarating than any a husband could have with another woman. On several occasions, I had my handmaid accompany me with a carriage, allowing her to shop on the market while Cassandra and I visited one another. I still do not know how William has not seen through our psychoanalyst ploy yet; after a month, the excuse starts growing thin. But I suppose he never paid me much attention anyway. My third visit was the first time Cassandra undressed for me, and the rest of her body was as flawless as her face. She was extremely tall for a woman, yet proportioned perfectly for her size. Her skin, an unmarred bronze everywhere the sunlight touches. Her wide hips, narrow waist, and full breasts gave her a gorgeous hourglass figure. Not a single hair shaved or out of place. She laid with me in bed and let me touch her in the same ways she had touched me, though I was nervous as I lacked her experience. But she guided me when I needed help, and was patient if I acted in error. And, with time, I was able to bring her pleasure like she had given me. It is so fascinating! Being with her has taught me so much about myself and sexual pleasure; it does make sense that the one who would know how to best satisfy a woman would be another woman. For instance, she informed me that the act of pleasuring a woman with one’s mouth is known as cunnilingus, and isn’t a very widely accepted practice in high society, at least among heterosexual couples. And during one visit, she brought a peculiar gift; “Since my husband and I have been failing to conceive even with regular intercourse, the physician diagnosed me with hysteria,” Cassandra told me. “He prescribed regular flushing of my uterine humors— otherwise known as an orgasm,” she said with a wink, “and for the times when Bradley is away on business and cannot attend to me, he gave us this,” with that, she pulled a long, thin box from her bag, and when she removed the lid, inside was an exact replica of a penis, carved from varnished wood. “It’s called a dildo,” said Cassandra, “and it’s used as a…male substitute. I thought we might benefit from it.” I know I benefitted from the strange thing, and after that visit, the ‘dildo’ remained in the room for many more future uses. 

I also have begun to learn more about the residents of the Market Quarter and Colburn Street. The urchin that offered me a paper during my first visit with Cassandra is named Thomas; two of the boys in the band I saw watching us from the shadowed alley are his brothers. Together, they complete odd jobs around the quarter to support themselves…sweeping chimneys, selling papers, making deliveries from the market stalls to nearby houses. Each time I see them, I make sure Thomas gets a sixpence coin to share with the only family he has. The pub I passed is busy early in the day because its patrons are mostly fishermen and factory workers who work the all-night shifts; to them, early afternoon is the only time they have to drink and be merry together. Despite the burly barmen who run the lower bar, the operation is owned by a mistress who uses the earnings to offer prostitutes hearty meals and a warm, safe place to spend the night every now and then. I have also become acquainted with the landlady for Cassandra’s flat. Her name is Deirdre O’Hara, and she has owned this house for nearly fifteen years. All her life she wanted to be a mother, and she moved to London with her husband to find steady jobs which could support a large, Catholic family. But when she found that she was barren, her husband left her…She never remarried, and never left the house they shared, which she rents rooms from to earn her living. When Cassandra heard Matron O’Hara’s story, she paid to own her room in full, on the condition she could furnish it and have guests as she pleased. Every now and then, she and Cassandra share dinner or tea over stories of the homelands that they love.

As I lived with Cassandra, I hoped to learn more about my lover, who has been secretive since the day we met. After we indulge in one another, she began to recount stories of her childhood in Sri Lanka, and the tales she spun were magical. “My first memory is walking down the white sand beaches of my homeland, staring into the water blue as sapphire, yet clear as glass. My young eyes see a beautiful spiraling shell, just beneath the waves, so I wade into the shallows and pick it up. It is a massive conch, almost as big as my head! I put the opening to my ear, and I hear the melodic siren’s song of the sea. And from that day forth, all of my free time was spent by the seaside,” Cassandra told me one afternoon as I lay in her arms. Her words wove magnificent tapestries featuring sword fights between turbaned assassins; hidden treasures in sea caves, buried there by pirates; ancient ruins dedicated to gods long forgotten; opium dens bedecked with Turkish weavings and Buddha statues cast from solid gold; emerald green jungles filled with creatures as beautiful as they are deadly; captured princesses rescued by gallant knights in disguise. I listen, enraptured, for what feels like hours, transported in my mind to the very coast where she grew up. I hope one day we can return, together, to see the land she describes so magnificently.

However, being with Cassandra for such a long period of time has only uncovered more mysteries; one being that, sadly, she suffers from an unknown, presently incurable illness. Nearly every month she is burdened by horrible fevers and becomes terribly dehydrated, to the point where she must consume water almost constantly. She can only find true relief by fully immersing herself in a cold tub of water. Part of the reason why she purchased our secret flat was as a place to retire to while she was ill, so that her husband would not worry. I have been by her side during such times of strife, and I can say I would give anything to see her healthy again. These fevers take such a toll on her; while her beauty never falters, seeing her in agony causes a physical ache within me. I cannot stand to see the woman I love in pain. I have begun to pray for a cure, but as of yet, I have received no answer.  
Faithfully yours,  
Elizabeth 

 

March 7, 1897  
Dear Diary,  
All has been going well with Cassandra and I. Each day I fall more out of lust and more into love with my oriental beauty. These past three months of my life have been some of my happiest; I feel adored, invigorated, and whole. It was so nice during the coldest months of winter to curl up in her warm embrace, the one place that feels like a home to me. Cassandra has mastered the art of listening; I feel as though I can tell her anything, and so I have told her everything. My loveless marriage to William, my mother’s death when I was young, my desire to be independent in a society dominated by men, my constant fear of being ostracized for whom I love…they all came pouring out as I sobbed into her chest during tearful fits. At first, I was ashamed, but after I revealed my emotions to someone I trusted, I felt so liberated—as if a 100-tonne weight had been lifted off my shoulders. There is no denying it now; the desire I harbor for Cassandra is far more than purely sexual. I do not know how much longer I can remain in an affair so casual.

Alas, Bradley must go overseas to negotiate an international trading deal, and he is taking Cassandra with him. They will depart on the tenth of this month, three days from when I am writing this. It is quite exciting; I believe they are visiting Greece and get to bathe in the glory of the Mediterranean sun! Even with the marvelous invention of the steam ship, their journey is expected to last a month at least, and I will have to return to my dull prior life by William’s side. That life brings me no joy, no excitement, no release! I am not sure if I will be able to take the burden of living without her. Though Cassandra promises to send a telegram as soon as they arrive safely on foreign soil, and write to me when she can…I can only hope her words on paper feel as good as kisses on her skin. And Cassandra loves to travel on the open ocean, so I am happy for her…but that makes me wish no less that it was I traveling by her side instead of Bradley. So now I am trapped in my home, akin to a prison, waiting for my lover to return. I suppose wistful sighs upon the windowsill have always been the language of unrequited love.  
Faithfully yours,  
Elizabeth

 

March 20, 1897  
Dear Diary,  
Cassandra has yet to send me a telegram, and it has been ten days since her departure. The journey by ship should not have taken this long; they must have arrived in Greece by now, surely! Maybe she forgot her promise to write, or hasn’t been able to find a way… Still, I worry for her safety. I hope I will receive word from her soon.  
Faithfully yours,  
Elizabeth

 

March 23, 1897  
Dear Diary,  
I have just gotten word that Cassandra’s ship hit a ferocious storm three days into her journey. There was a distress signal sent, and the ship never docked at its scheduled port in Greece. Yesterday…pieces of a wreck washed up on shores in Spain. It is believed to be the ship Cassandra and Bradley were traveling on. There are presumed to be no survivors.  
Elizabeth

 

March 28, 1897  
Dear Diary,  
I am devastated to say this will be my final entry. As I write this, I am standing upon a cliff overlooking the raging sea. I have no reason to live anymore. My one true love, the woman who gave me hope, light, peace, and satisfaction… she has been stricken from this earth without warning. I feel that God must have abandoned me. Cassandra gave my life meaning; she set a course to paradise when, before, I was simply a ship adrift in the waves. What is there left for me on this bleak earth? A loveless marriage? A life imprisoned? Nights alone and filled with sadness? Why would I desire that? So, as of last night, I decided that suicide is the only option. Thus, I feel that since the sea extinguished the life of the only woman I have ever loved, so it should take mine from me as well. Here I stand, dressed for mourning, ready to dash myself upon the sharp rocks below. I am leaving my diary by the point from which I leap as a testament to the love I have lost. It will bear my every secret, because I cannot stand to die knowing my life was a lie to all those around me. All but Cassandra. So, if you are reading this, it is all true! I am a lesbian, I do not love my husband, and I despise the way I am forced to live, expected to be virtuous and docile and beneath my male colleagues! I am intelligent, beautiful, strong, worthy of desire and worthy to be your equal…Cassandra taught me those things, and I will never forget. I have three final wishes to leave as my last will and testament: first, William, please remarry. However, make sure the woman you choose loves you in return before you tie her to yourself in lawful marriage. Second, do not hold a funeral for me. My death is shameful, selfish, and unceremonious; my life was mundane and worth very little. There is no cause to parade me as something I was not; cry no false tears over my corpse. Lastly, give three quarters of the wealth in my name to Matron O’Hara at 82 Colburn Street, and let her use it to be the loving mother the urchins of the Market district never had. All of the kind souls I have met during my rendezvous with Cassandra deserve far better than they have; I will do my part to ensure that is realized. 

In this moment, I am far from fearless. Death is darkness and it is unknown; I am terrified of what lies ahead. We cannot prove the existence of an omniscient God or an afterlife, Paradiso or Inferno. There is no greater uncertainty than the end of life. But that I am willing to embrace this uncertainty, instead of the burden of living, proves how cowardly I am, wanting to die more than face my life as it is. Yet is also proves the strength of my love: it is so intense, so powerful, so filled with meaning that it is impossible for me to live in its absence. The nights I have spent crying endlessly, no one to offer comfort or a shoulder to rest on, have whittled me to a breaking point. Submerged in the darkness of depression, my grief is so overpowering it has overshadowed all other emotion in my heart; I feel no anger, no joy, no jealousy, nor desire. I do not hunger, thirst, or need sleep. It is as if my world of color has suddenly been reduced to mere shades of grey. These experiences have made me aware of just how much significance my relationship with Cassandra gave my life. Now she is gone, and so is my life’s significance. Therefore, tonight is when it must come to an end; I can only hope that my demise is as quick and painless as it can be. Cassandra, I will be in your arms again soon.  
Lost and Without Faith,  
Elizabeth

 

Elizabeth set her pen and open diary down by her feet. The wind howled in her ears and whipped her black attire around violently. Trembling, she took one step forward, then another. Peering over the cliff’s edge, she saw the dark, swirling ocean, grey with the cold visage of winter. Monstrous waves crashed viciously against the rocks beneath her; she could almost feel their freezing white spray splash against her cheeks. Any other day, she would be having second thoughts. But with Cassandra dead, her thoughts and emotions were clouded with grief; she could not feel the fear that would have held her back. While she wrote, tears had welled up in her eyes and were now streaming down her face uncontrollably. She sobbed aloud, her end drawing nearer with every step. Her anguished cries nearly matched the fury of the wailing winds. However, when she slipped on a pebble and felt no more ground beneath the foot she placed forward, all turned quiet, as if the world had stilled for this moment. “Soon, my love,” Elizabeth whispered, her voice hoarse and cracking. With that, she crossed herself, spread her arms, and leapt into the churning sea that lie below.


	2. What Lies Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death was not Elizabeth's fate. So what was?

There was a faint glow illuminating what was once only blackness. Elizabeth blinked, the brightness causing her to squint. Her vision swam, preventing her from focusing on the blurry figure leaning over her. Suddenly, her stomach lurched violently, so she turned to the side and retched, water spilling from her mouth; even after no more came forth, she continued to cough and heave dryly, forcing any remaining drops of seawater from her lungs. She felt a hand lightly rubbing her back to soothe her, and a familiar voice said, “That’s right darling, let it all out.” Elizabeth took in a deep breath, coughed once or twice more, and then wiped her mouth on her forearm. Moving to sit up and lean against her pillow, she turned in the direction of the voice and tried to focus—the figure sitting beside her seemed so far away. Gradually, her eyes came to recognize the face before them, and Elizabeth gasped. Sitting right in front of her, alive and well, was Cassandra. After a moment of staring, mouth agape, Elizabeth raised her palm and struck Cassandra forcefully across her cheek; immediately following that, she grasped her lover’s face in both hands and pulled her into an intense kiss. She pulled away from their passionate embrace and said, indignantly, “What in damnation were you thinking? I was lost without you; I thought you were dead! Why would you do such a thing?” Cassandra sighed and looked away, rubbing her cheek—still stinging from the forceful slap. “I was expecting this,” she said, her voice low, “but I am still not sure how I will answer, or if you are ready for the truth.” Cassandra turned to Elizabeth and looked into her eyes, welling once again with tears; “I am so deeply sorry, my love. That is all I can say for now; please rest, and I will return soon,” she said, gripping Elizabeth’s hand tightly in her own. Then, after softly kissing her once more, she stood and walked out of the room.  
Elizabeth was feeling so many emotions at once, she could hardly differentiate them; confusion, joy, anger, love, and fear all stirred within her. Why wouldn’t Cassandra tell her what had happened? Where was she? Were they both dead? All she had was questions, and had yet to find a single answer. However, Elizabeth knew focusing on things out of her control would do her nothing but harm for now, so she sunk back into her pillow and looked around her room for the first time. The whole space seemed round, as if she lay in a hollowed-out half-circle. There were no windows, and the door through which Cassandra had left was merely an arch cut into the curved wall, blocked by a curtain waving in some invisible breeze. Everything looked to be molded out of a rough plaster, and she could see a few scattered shells imbedded in the material. Across from her, several cubbies were carved into the wall for storage instead of traditional shelves. Beneath those sat a large, ancient trunk, holding who knows what. She gazed at the floor, and it looked to be tiled with smooth river rocks, each stone slightly raised and polished. Yet the most amazing aspect was that every surface shimmered with the dancing reflection of water, the effect seemingly caused by a glowing pool in the left corner of the room. Each breath smelled like a fresh sea breeze. Her curiosity getting the better of her, Elizabeth slid out of her bed and stood, wanting to explore this mysterious place. Surprised, she noticed that she had been stripped of the formal mourning attire she had been wearing when she jumped from the cliff, and was now naked but for a light cotton shift. She was a bit unsteady on her feet, still being weak from whatever had happened before she woke up. The floor was cool, and felt almost wet; as she stepped, the smooth stones massaged the soles of her feet. First, she walked to the glowing pool. It was large, maybe three meters in diameter, and a bright light shone up from the bottom, preventing Elizabeth from assessing its true depth. The water that filled it was the color of the summer sky, and clear as crystal. Unable to resist, Elizabeth extended her foot and dipped her toes into the water; it was surprisingly warm, and felt almost invigorating. The pool called to her, but knowing nothing about her location, Elizabeth dared not get in. Next, she walked over to the cubby shelves in the wall. Some contained more shifts like her own, folded neatly in stacks. Other housed unmarked bottles; a few, Elizabeth uncapped and drew in deep breaths from. Still, she could not tell their contents except for the wonderful scents they emitted—lavender and freesia, summer sunlight, a calm shore, fresh baked bread, something lush and earthy. In other cubbies still sat large, uncut gemstones, their crystalline peaks shooting up from rough, rocky bases. They felt as if they were charged with energy, for when her hand drew near, raw emotion pulsed through Elizabeth’s body. Finally, she bent to examine the ancient chest. It was made from dark wood, with heavy iron slats running across the top. The handles on either side were iron as well. Running her hand over the lid, the chest felt to Elizabeth as if it were encrusted in salt, as though for many years it had been submerged in the sea. She tried to open it, but it was either firmly locked shut or the lid too heavy to lift. She looked towards the door, pondering venturing outside her room, but felt…afraid. There were things beyond the curtain she was not yet meant to see. Her inquisitiveness satisfied for now, Elizabeth walked back over to her bed, feeling as though she should rest. She burrowed under the downy quilts and drifted into a dark, dreamless sleep.  
When she awoke, Elizabeth was groggy and disoriented; she had, for a moment, forgotten where she was, and briefly became startled. The dimly lit room also made it difficult to discern the time of day; how long had she been asleep? A few hours, or a few days? In waking, she was reminded of how little she knew about her current predicament, and wished someone would offer an explanation. At that moment, the curtain was swept aside, revealing Cassandra, clad in a long, shapeless dress that reached down to her ankles. She walked over to where Elizabeth lay and sat behind the bend of her knees, resting a hand on her thigh. Cassandra sighed and appeared to be lost in thought; Elizabeth wanted to comfort her, had she known more. “Elizabeth…I am glad you have rested,” the bronzed woman said to her ivory lover, “I have decided to tell you the truth. Whether or not you accept it will determine how we proceed.” Elizabeth met Cassandra’s melancholy gaze; “Well, if it’s the truth, why wouldn’t I accept it?” she asked. “Because, sometimes, the truth is stranger than fiction,” Cassandra answered. “I don’t even know where to begin…” Elizabeth heard her murmur to herself. Cassandra took a deep breath, steeling herself, and said, “I will begin with the shipwreck. It was I who steered the ship into the storm.” Confused, Elizabeth only stared, unsure of what to say. “I know that it makes no sense…at least, not until you hear the entire story. But I admit: the ship was on course and on time. We would not have hit the storm at all had we stayed on our current path…but I needed the ship to wreck. I needed to be free of that marriage, those human shackles, that world!” Cassandra pleaded; “So, late at night, I snuck to the bridge, knocked out the captain, and steered the ship in a different direction—the direction of the hurricane just off the eastern horizon.” Elizabeth saw the honesty in Cassandra’s eyes, and felt the pain in her words, but she still could not comprehend her actions; “I still cannot understand… Why would you put your own life at danger?” she asked. “I did not put my own life in danger. I endangered the lives of the beasts who captured me, imprisoned me, and made me put on an act I could not preform!” Cassandra answered, her anger palpable. “Cassandra…you’re starting to scare me,” said Elizabeth, nervously, “your words make no sense. How can I trust you when you only speak nonsense, becoming angry over insanity?” Cassandra reached out to touch her, to hold her in place while she explained, but Elizabeth drew back in fear. Instantly, Cassandra saw the error in her ways and the fear in the eyes of her love. “I’m…sorry,” she said, quietly, “This is just so hard to talk about; what they did made me so angry. And now, I feel even worse, not realizing how attached to me you were. Not knowing that my selfishness would push you to suicide.” “Please, Cassandra…just tell me why,” Elizabeth begged, sadness and desperation in her voice.  
Cassandra breathed deeply, calming herself. She offered her hand to the smaller woman, and Elizabeth took it. “The truth is that I am not fully human. At least, not in the way you are,” she said, looking deep into Elizabeth’s eyes. Elizabeth’s grip on Cassandra’s hand tightened; “Explain,” she said, and the sincerity of the word let Cassandra know she could not back out now. “The stories I told you about my youth… I was born and raised on the coast of Sri Lanka; that much is true. But I did not spend my days on the white sand beaches, looking down into the water…I did the opposite,” Cassandra explained. Elizabeth tilted her head inquisitively and asked, “How is that possible?” “I am only half human…the other half of me is mermaid,” Cassandra answered. Elizabeth was even more perplexed. “But, dear, mermaids are creatures of fiction. Besides, even if they were real, you look nothing like one,” she said. “Yes, while on land, I walk on two legs just as you do. But once I enter the sea, I transform; I become as free as the wind that blows above the waves itself! The ocean, blue as sapphire…that is where I really belong,” Cassandra said, wistfully; “And I assure you, mermaids are very much real; my father may have been a sailor, but my mother is a maiden of the sea.” Then, she turned towards the pool across the room and made several noises, akin to a series of clicks and whistles, with her tongue. Elizabeth heard a splash, and looked to see a woman leaning part of the way outside the pool, her hair down and breasts exposed. The woman opened her mouth and made similar noises in return; turning back to Elizabeth, Cassandra explained, “This is my good friend and sister, Rashmi. Those sounds were a greeting in our language.” Rashmi smiled and waved at Elizabeth; Elizabeth timidly returned the gesture. Cassandra said something else to Rashmi Elizabeth could not comprehend, and Rashmi nodded in understanding. All of sudden, a large, fanned fish tail emerged from the water behind her. It shimmered iridescently in the pool’s glow, its original blue shifting to reveal hues of purple and green. Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide in disbelief; “Is that…?” she asked, her voice trailing off. “Of course; Rashmi is a living, breathing mermaid. And so am I,” Cassandra answered. Elizabeth slid off of the bed and hurried to the edge of the pool, staring at Rashmi in fascination. There was no denying that Rashmi was, as Cassandra had said, a mermaid—beneath the water, her torso ended not in legs, but instead the long, elegant tail of a tropical fish. Elizabeth looked at Rashmi, still gaping; she began to tentatively reach out her hand, and Rashmi politely lifted her tail for Elizabeth to touch. Stroking the scaled appendage, Elizabeth marveled at its authenticity. This changed her entire worldview; if mermaids were real, what other storybook creatures roamed the earth unseen? With a few clicks from Cassandra, Rashmi dove back into the pool and out of sight. Elizabeth spun to face Cassandra, speechless and smiling. She ran to her love, who took her into her arms and locked her in a strong embrace. “I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you darling! How magical this has been,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “But if your past was lived swimming free in the ocean of a gorgeous tropical land, why would you sacrifice that to become a British housewife?” Cassandra’s face fell. “It was not my choice to leave. Being half-human, I am blessed with the power to walk on land at will; one day, while sunning on the white sand beaches, Colonel Harbrigg came across my sleeping form. Thinking I was no more than a savage native girl, he kidnapped me and married me off to his son, Bradley. To preserve the safety of my people, I performed my role dutifully, but it pained me to abandon my heritage so,” Cassandra explained, “Only a child, I was forced into a marriage against my will to a man I would never love. I was raped and held captive in his house, shielded from seeing the ocean, my one true home. That was the real cause of my fever illness; I had been away from the waves for too long, and my body had begun to reject its human form. I could not live that lie any longer without risking my own life. And now, you see, why I had to orchestrate the shipwreck,” Cassandra finished, returning her gaze to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was horrified; if only she had known the truth about Cassandra’s past, the horrors she had endured, and the dire straits she had been in, she would never have been so selfish as to take her own life.  
“I have one last question still left unanswered,” said Elizabeth, “You had your reasons for surviving the shipwreck. But I… I jumped off a cliff, dashing my body upon the rocks below. How am I alive?” “Something you must understand is that when merfolk choose a mating partner, their physical and emotional selves become bonded. Being human, you were unable to know that I was alive after the shipwreck; but thankfully, you had made a deeper impression on me, Elizabeth,” Cassandra said, “Just as I was to celebrate my newly found freedom, my connection with you allowed me to sense you were in distress. I felt so guilty. But when your emotions tipped into blackness and your body faced physical harm, I realized the severity of the situation. I sent out a distress call to my sisters that were near you, and they did me the service of saving your life. Then you were brought here, to the Palace of The South Continental Sea, where your wounds were healed and I prayed that you would regain consciousness. You slept for three nights and days, but our healers did not fail me; I was lucky enough to be there when you awoke.” Elizabeth was so ecstatic, she uttered the first thing that came into her mind: “Oh, Cassandra! You didn’t forget me after all!” She leaned in and kissed her lovingly. After a moment, Cassandra pulled back and said, “Of course not. I could never forget someone as special as you,” while holding Elizabeth’s face in her hands. “I missed you so much…how can I express my gratitude?” Elizabeth asked. Cassandra smiled, eyes twinkling; “I can think of more than one way, darling,” she said before pushing her lover onto the bed into a heated kiss. Soon, clothing and inhibitions were all but forgotten.  
Once they finished passionately celebrating their reunion, Elizabeth and Cassandra lay flushed and panting amid tousled covers. “Mm, I’d nearly forgotten the wonders of which your touch is capable,” said Elizabeth, gazing at her love. “I needed to apologize for leaving your life so suddenly and without explanation…I simply let my fingers do the talking,” Cassandra replied, “Now that you know all there is about my past, I’d like to give you a personal tour of the palace.” “Oh, that would be splendid!” Elizabeth exclaimed. Both women got off the bed and dressed themselves in simple clothing. Taking Elizabeth’s hand, Cassandra led her to the arched doorway and pushed aside the curtain, showing her the world outside her room for the first time. Elizabeth was taken aback by the stunning view; ahead, the corridor seemed to be constructed entirely of glass, giving her a clear vision of the open ocean that surrounded the palace. For miles around, there was sandy ocean floor, while dense kelp forests and rocky coral reefs sat interspersed in the distance. Fish swam in schools around the palace, and mermaids floated in and out of sight. “How magnificent,” Elizabeth said, staring in awe. “Come along, we don’t have all day,” Cassandra prompted. Excited as a small child on Christmas morning, Elizabeth hurried after Cassandra into the next chamber. While not as awe-inspiring as the crystal corridor, the rotunda was magnificent in its own right. The room’s center was a large open pool which acted as a hub for a series of submerged tunnels leading to other parts of the palace. Merfolk of all ages and colors swam through the pool, some resting around the edge while others simply passed through, never even breaching the surface. The curved walls tapered up to a large skylight, showcasing the sparkling night sky above. There were also walking corridors leading away from the rotunda, and Elizabeth noted the many robed figures traversing the area. “Who are they?” she asked Cassandra in a hushed tone. “Those are our healers and priestesses…they are the only mermaids eternally confined to two legs,” Cassandra replied. One turned towards them, and Elizabeth saw that her face was scaled and fish-like, yet retained elements of humanity. Her expression was solemn and intelligent, and she only made eye contact with the women for a moment before returning to her task. “Those halls lead to other rooms like yours,” Cassandra said to Elizabeth, “Some house esteemed guests from far-off realms. Others are chambers of healing, where the priestesses work tirelessly to cure the sick and mend the injured. However, they are private, so I will not take you there.” They continued around the outer path of the rotunda before approaching a large, daunting archway, the first one Elizabeth had seen shielded with heavy oaken doors. Cassandra cast her a serious gaze and said, “I have been granted permission to introduce you to the Queen of the Southern Continental Sea. For you, this is an incredible honor; very few humans indeed are permitted to be in her majesty’s presence. It is vital you show her the respect she deserves.” With that, she gave the mighty wooden doors a push and they swung open to reveal the grandeur of the throne room. The long chamber was filled with colored light filtering in from the stained glass windows that lined each wall. These depicted heroic scenes of battle, great legends passed down from times of old, and the miracles of nature. An ornate carpet ran the length of the room, leading to the cathedra of the queen. Elizabeth was astounded by the way her dais was arranged: there was a shimmering pool set into the floor, and above it, a column of water poured down.  
However, this was no ordinary waterfall; three-dimensional and large in diameter, the liquid column contained enough room for the queen to rest inside, floating several feet above the surface of the pool, watching over the chamber. She was adorned with jewelry wrought from precious metals, such as pewter and gold. She held a silver staff, adorned with rubies and pearls and wrapped in strands of kelp. Her skin was tanned, but still remained a lighter shade than that of the other merfolk Elizabeth had seen thus far; her hair, a coppery dark blonde. The tail that waved below her torso was a regal shade of purple, and her fins were more ornamental than Rashmi’s, feathery and shining. Elizabeth greatly admired the queen’s beauty and poise. When she and Cassandra reached the foot of the pool, Cassandra motioned for them to bow, and she humbly did so; she almost felt as if she was unworthy to gaze at her majesty’s beauty. “Elizabeth, I present to you the ruler of the Southern Continental Seas, Her Majesty Queen Isabella Alessi,” Cassandra announced. Still bowing, Elizabeth brought her eyes back to the queen, who was smiling down at her, kindness in her dark eyes. Relieved, Elizabeth let the air finally leave her lungs, only realizing at that moment she had been holding her breath. “You may stand,” Elizabeth heard a voice clearly say. The sound was unfamiliar; it took her a moment to realize the queen had spoken, somehow conveying her message without once opening her mouth. “Th-Thank you, your highness,” Elizabeth stuttered, slowing getting to her feet. “Please, call me Isabella,” the queen said in her calm alto voice, “None of my sisters refer to me as “your highness” except during formal occasions.” She winked in Cassandra’s direction. Isabella looked Elizabeth up and down in silence, finally saying “So you are the human I have heard so much about…You are one of the first I have met on behalf of one of my sisters. Cassandra was incredibly distraught that you were injured, and I am coming to understand why.” Elizabeth turned briefly to her lover, who was wearing a blush more intense than she had seen before this moment. “It is quite rare that a mermaid and human share a bond as strong as that which Cassandra has with you,” Queen Isabella continued, “But due to such rarity, we are faced with a conundrum: it would not be considerate to forcibly separate Cassandra from you, Elizabeth. And yet, the differences in your biology means you cannot live together.” The reality of the situation sunk into Elizabeth like a stone; she had been so caught up in the wonder of this whole experience, she hadn’t even paused to consider the future she and Cassandra would share. It had been physically impossible for her to live without Cassandra…was the queen suggesting that was her only option? Elizabeth felt hot tears begin to sting her eyes. Noticing her sadness, Queen Isabella said, “Don’t cry, my dear…come to me,” and Elizabeth made her way closer, head hung low. The queen reached one hand through the watery curtain that surrounded her and stroked Elizabeth’s cheek, saying, “You love Cassandra deeply, and she loves you in return. Do not fear; we will find a way to preserve your bond…it may just take some careful thought to find a solution.” “You think it’s possible?” Elizabeth asked, blinking away her tears. “Of course. I wasn’t chosen to be queen without good reason,” Isabella assured her, “but for now, I would suggest you spend as much time with Cassandra as you can, and rest yourself as well.” Elizabeth nodded and returned to her lover’s side. “You are dismissed,” Isabella stated, “and in the meanwhile, I will deliberate with the priestesses and the Council of Elders. We will not fail you.”  
Cassandra walked Elizabeth back to her room, holding her tightly. Despite the queen’s reassurances, Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel saddened over the possibility of losing her love forever. “Hush now, darling,” Cassandra said quietly, rubbing her back, “We will find a way to be together. I only needed to discuss things with the queen so there would be honest consideration on the subject.” Elizabeth sniffled and said nothing. Returning to her chambers, Cassandra laid beside Elizabeth on the bed, cradling her and humming a soothing hymn. She may not have shown it herself, but Cassandra was also deeply concerned about losing Elizabeth. She sighed and decided to put all her trust in the queen; there was nothing she could do for now. She stared at the wall until she fell into a fitful sleep. Cassandra awoke several hours later, during the early hours of the morning. Elizabeth continued to slumber quietly, she did her best not to disturb the woman as she rose from the bed. While she slept, a dream had come to her: white sand; a palm tree stretching to the heavens. Her mother’s voice, but muffled. The tide rising into a craggy sea cave. It was baffling, but Cassandra was able to interpret the message it brought: she must return to her homeland and speak to her mother. There, she would find her answer. She stripped off her clothing and made her way to the underwater entrance into Elizabeth’s room. Giving her sleeping paramour one final concerned look, Cassandra dove into the clear water and swam off in the direction of the rising sun.


End file.
